It Begins With an End
by EllieJellythemusicgirl
Summary: Seeming to come to a rough patchin her life, Ellie flees to England in hopes of her wild imagination to be recognized, after a hard life in America and tragic death of her mother. As they always say, when nothing goes right, turn left. First Beatle fic!


**A/N: Hey guys! This is my first Beatles-fic, so as far as reviews go, I'll take any advice as far as where I should go with the story, if my character is too Mary-Sue or anything as far as that. Of course, flames are not accepted unless they have any advice to fix this story. **

**Wow, that sounded real business-like :P But yeah! I've had this silly idea in my head for a while and I was talking to BeatleGeekTess and I wanted to finally share this! And as far as which Beatle she'll be paired with… is a secret. But I know which one, but I plan on not telling (you'll just have to read the darned fic :P) **

**Last note! (I promise) this character is similar to me as far as where she's from, name, looks, and some mannerisms except for some events that happen to her. But I think personally she comes off more as a feisty little fireball. But she's a Texas girl like me so she'll occasionally obtain a southern twang (usually when she's mad :P) and for the sake of all fangirls, all the Beatles in this fic are single. And some parts are changed as far as historically correct goes for the sake of this story. It's fan fiction, so I figured, "Why not?" **

**And on to the story! **

**Disclaimer: Yes, believe it or not, I do not own The Beatles. Shocker, right?**

_Beepbeepbeep_ fired from my alarm clock, like the evil machine gun it was.

"Dammit" I muttered as I rolled toward the rapid fire of reality. The song "Tell Me On a Sunday" still fresh in my ears from my dreamland expirence. I was never a morning person, or an alarm clock person. I always had to have someone wake me up from my dreamland.

I can almost remember clear as day when my Ma woke me up for school or swim practice. She'd always creep in slowly, as if something'd blow up if she wasn't careful. It seemed like it was yesterday, or a moment ago that she came in and gingerly shook her awake, her breath already smelling like coffee _Wake up, Ellie_.

"It's no longer yesterday," I whispered, I felt my voice about to falter, "It's today."

I started the man hunt for my diner uniform. I had a pretty wild imagination in dreamland and ended up sleepwalking, so it wasn't unusual to end up with random paraphernalia around me, or in some cases, random things misplaced. In this case, it was my diner uniform. I don't know what I dreamed up that involved such items, I will never know. My Dreamland was one funky place.

It was the only place I had left.

Finding my uniform and Julia nametag (long story), I headed for the early morning streets of London. Having a cheap job, breakfast was out of the question. Memories of pancakes and biscuits flooded my mind from yesteryear, when _she_ was still here.

My mind seemed to droop and droop as I thought of my childhood. It drooped far when I remembered getting ready for swim practice early in the morning; the little high school I went to that only had two grades because it was so new. My mind fell even more when I remembered my friends at swim team, how we went through so much together, through family problems, killer sets at practice, everything. I felt my head fall down when I realized that all of it was gone.

Of course, as my mind went through this "joyous" walk down memory lane, I became oblivious to my footing, and tripped.

"Fuck!" I screamed. My skirt was all ruined! Normally I wouldn't give a damn about some skirt being ruined, but my cheap manager would. As I vainly cleaned my skirt, I realized my ever-precious journal was at home.

"Really? That too?" I started again. People started to stare at the crazy American who was talking to herself. I just huffed and kept my head down, figuring that I didn't have time to clean the skirt or retrieve my journal. I mumbled something about staring being impolite as I headed to the diner, otherwise known as Hell.

As I reached for the spit-shined handle on the door and pulled on it, I felt something. Something in which I hadn't felt in so long. It rested not in the pit of my stomach, where most of my feelings rested nowadays, but somewhere different. This feeling rested in the middle of my heart; the very center of it. Oh gosh, what was this feeling? (A/N: Wicked allusion :P) Why did it feel so familiar? Why was it rested so high up, up in the very center of my own stone heart? Was it hope? I pushed these pestering thoughts as I headed through the diner.

I knew one thing was sure, as I took a yelling from my cheap manager and the particular orders form customers, that I didn't need my journal today.

The morning crowd was in simple words, terrible. No one, I repeat, _no one_ left a tip! What was the world coming to?

I sat on the counter and fumed silently, fuming over the horrible morning I was having. I mean, what did I do wrong? Give the customer their food too quickly, too nicely even though I could barely muster a smile? Did I help them too much when they had a question?

My expression softened when I remembered something my Ma told me, _don't pass judgment so quickly. Maybe they're having a bad day too_. Yeah, maybe they lost almost everything they had too. Or maybe they couldn't say the word "cancer" without choking up or crying. Maybe they aren't seen as the writer they are, but just an athlete. Or maybe they worked for the worst manager the world has to offer and get peanuts for their hard work. Yeah, right.

As I sat silently ridiculing the customers humanity, the infamous Mr. Sykes came busting through the door, suspenders, cigars and all. His blotchy red face spit and spuddered, "Julia? Why are you jus sitin there? Wes has customers to attend to!"

I felt myself fume even more when he called me Julia. He gave it too me because the diner was "short on money" and it was the only one he had. And even after several corrections, he still called me Julia.

I couldn't let this slide, my temper was worn on too much by this fat man. I stood square to him and retorted back, my accent showing, "Well it seems as if someone is already drunk!" The diner fell silent as the last word rug through the entire place. He stood stricken by my blatant honesty. I felt encouraged, "This has to be a new record! Its jus nine a.m.! This'll be good, can ya see it now?" I motioned with my hand fantasizing this feat, "World record holder, Mister Sykes, for the earliest time to be completely wasted!" My eyes felt like fire as they looked straight into his cold ones. "And by the way," I grabbed my waitress notebook, still looking at him, "It's Ellie. Not Julia." I turned and headed for my assigned table and was shocked.

Brian Epstein was at MY table. The manager for The Beatles was here at my table! He sat unaware of the little showdown I was just in, staring at the menu before him. I walked slowly towards him, trying to hide the inner fangirl inside me, who was begging him for an autograph from the Fab Four.

Maybe today wouldn't be too bad.

**A/N: And there you go! First chapter! I forgot to mention, but the song in the very beginning "Tell Me On a Sunday" isn't mine whatsoever. It belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber, and it's a beautiful song. I personally love the Sarah Brightman version :)**

**Anyway, please review! Tell me what you thought, what you want to see, or what characters you'd like to be shown (for this, just tell me you'd like a character and I'll PM you questions about this character, it can be made up or it could be of you. But you must be one of the first to review!). And don't worry, you'll see the boys in here, it's all cleverly planned out.**

**Thanks for your time!**

**-Ellie**


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